YPCO

Three choices loomed. One promised adventure (a far away job), another acceleration (summer school). The last (going home), and least desired, offered basic bleakness. I hoped for the first, would settle for the second, and dreaded the third.

As the next-to-last born first cousin, I was accustomed to hearing about what seemed like exotic opportunities enjoyed by the elders of my generation. The boy cousins' stories especially intrigued me. A couple of brothers captured my struggling self with tales of piloting historic buses over Glacier National Park's glorious Going to the Sun Road. How could a kid from my small town hope to experience such spaces? I was, after all, a girl. Just eighteen, finishing my freshman year at a state women's college. My world was little, very proscribed.


Yet something called to me from vistas I could only imagine. Maybe my future would unfurl in a place where summer snow is not uncommon and animals generally only encountered in zoos, roam freely.

By the time I reached the age eligibility for such exploration, the boy cousins had finished medical school. I had not forgotten the almost mythic stories of their past summers and set about to replicate their tales.

I really wanted to work in the same park they had chosen but decided to also seek an alternate, just in case. To secure a spot for me, my dear daddy called upon his first cousin, the Speaker of the House of Representatives in our state. He, in turn, asked a favor of the state's senior U.S. Senator. A letter of recommendation was crafted and sent along with my application. I really don't know if this support was truly necessary but it couldn't have hurt my chances.

I never received a reply from my favored site, but delighted in acceptance from the alternate. My destiny was thus determined. Hired as a checker/cashier, I'd receive room and board and $90 a month for a six-day week. If I stayed the whole summer, I'd collect a bonus which could be used to offset transportation costs.

Did it bother me that the journey of thousands of miles probably cost more than I would earn in three months? Not in the least. I was focused. Ready to escape my environment, to test myself in another setting without family or friends. Me, alone. A near grown-up. I was absolutely unafraid of what I might discover or who might discover me.

For months I updated my parents on my progress toward the summer sojourn. On the day they drove me to the train station and I was about to eagerly alight, my mother looked at me and said, "I never believed you would do it. I thought you were just talking." Not for a minute. I waved without wavering and boarded without regret.

Riding on the City of New Orleans, I looked forward. First stop, Chicago, where a close high school friend was ending his own freshman year at the University of Chicago. We spent the day together. I rode the El to his campus without pausing to think of potential danger. That night, I returned to the train station, found my sleeper on the Great Northern Railway, and bid adieu to all that I knew.

So began my Yellowstone National Park days. In many ways, those months marked my life indelibly. I learned a lot about myself and set the course that would bring me, through many meanderings, to the joyful life I embrace today.

We were all young. Even the people we considered 'old' were not. I was assigned the cafeteria at Fishing Bridge. My dorm room was perched atop a rustic lodge where workers and guests gathered on nippy nights. Girls from many states and a few foreign countries crowded our narrow halls. Some had recently graduated from high school and seemed overwhelmed by the absence of the familiar.


Guys lived in their own dorm a short distance away. Because of an overflow, a few had been assigned to nearly primitive cabins generally rented to visitors. Wandering at will among the cabins were rather formidable brown bears. They were so prolific that we quickly learned to basically ignore them and stay out of their way.

Whoever chose the uniforms for the cafeteria workers must have possessed a macabre sense of humor. The material was thin, flimsy rayon. Its surface featured puckers and not in a positive way. Down the front, a white piping lent an air of lightness to the dress. Short sleeves, buttons hidden behind the white placket, and a slight A-line shape did nothing to enhance the outfit. The color can only be described as awful, pale mustard. I remember that uniform needed extensive hemming. No petites in the inventory apparently. It fit loosely and looked comical. I wish I still had a photo of this unlovely frock. A somewhat perky apron and plain tennies completed the ensemble.

Standing at the cash register, I added up whatever choices had been placed on the customer's tray. The bill was given to the cashier who then asked for payment. To my right, there was a long row of steam tables with meat, vegetables, desserts, rolls. No plastic gloves anywhere. Sanitation was scant. After a few weeks, I could barely tolerate seeing and smelling the food day after day.

Customers were often in family groups, sometimes tired, occasionally difficult. We offered a service for those who caught rainbow trout in nearby Yellowstone Lake. The kitchen would prepare the fish and serve it to the guest for a small fee. I still recall the excellent flavor of this fish which also appeared regularly on the staff menus.

As young people do, alliances formed quickly. Boys met girls. Dates ensued. Romances blossomed, though few were permanent. In addition to those who worked for Yellowstone Park Company, another group toiled for Hamilton Stores. Those enterprises offered clothing, camping supplies, groceries and restaurants featuring soda fountains.



Company buses offered transportation throughout the park. Traveling to other sites was simple enough. I marveled at the magnificence of Old Faithful and the Grand Canyon of the Yellowstone, walked carefully quite close to many geysers and hot pools, joined an excursion to the top of the highest point in the park, and ate my way from Canyon to West Thumb and Mammoth to Roosevelt. I reveled in light snow with my head protected by a pink plastic umbrella.


Bison moved in lumbering herds and seemed oblivious to passing cars and gawking tourists with cameras. Once, while exploring off the main road, a gigantic moose nearly collided with the hood of the car. It's difficult to say who was more startled. I often rode around the park with new friends and blithely stopped for bears. With Oreos in hand, we offered samples to these monstrous creatures. For fun, we'd drive to West Yellowstone late in the evening, park the car and watch grizzlies eat garbage. No fear fused through our minds. Did we feel invincible?


With only one free day a week but energy to spare, destinations outside the park beckoned. Over the circuitous road through Beartooth Pass, we exited to the east and visited Billings. I remember an almost empty theater where "The Parent Trap" was the feature. Down south to Teton National Park, a first attempt at sleeping outside at Gros Ventre Campground convinced me that I was not an outdoorsperson. The historical town of Cody offered a cute vaudeville show and huge, not so tender, steaks eaten at a rustic restaurant overlooking the frightening edge of a deep canyon.

Though my self-confidence was in its infancy, and I probably lacked any real courage, I must admit that several times I walked with a fellow female worker to the junction of the main road, stuck out my thumb and hitchhiked to another site within the park. The fact that these rides were totally uneventful must be attributed to simple luck. There is no other explanation, even in what seemed like halcyon days.

My favorite spot in the whole park was, and remains, the dining room at Lake Lodge. With an absolutely spectacular view of Lake Yellowstone, white tablecloth-covered tables, and college-age servers, it really didn't matter if the food were palatable. It was much more than that. I've rarely eaten more satisfying meals. In the background, young musicians played effortlessly and transformed the setting into the sublime.

In the decades since my park employment, I've returned multiple times to that place of astounding beauty. My husband and children agree that my assessment of Yellowstone is absolutely accurate. I've been pleased to observe that despite the years, increasing usage, and ravages of nature, the wonder has not diminished. Roads may be in need of repair, buildings have faded a bit or been razed. The college student workers continue the tradition of enthusiasm and energy. Yellowstone Park Company has been replaced by an absentee corporate landlord whose focus is finance not heritage. The park, however, still belongs to the people. May it ever be so.

As for me, I have only to look at this adorable face, and know that I found my future at Yellowstone National Park.